Frankly
by Emmeline's Embers
Summary: Frankie isn't one for myths, so it is pretty obvious her mom-forced weekends with her dad and half brother's aren't that enjoyable. She knows they're crazy. Because myths are myths and that stuff just doesn't exist. Right? Future OCxGabriel
1. Chapter 1

**Frankly**

_This is for a very close friend of mine. I feel she needs this, whatever it may so happen to be ('cause I don't honestly know yet). _

_I love you, Suz! You're my inspiration and coach through the hard times and I-sincerely-hope maybe one day the favor shall be returned. You're an amazing author, and whatever funk you're going through shouldn't stop you from being the best that you so easily are._

_Thanks for being a true friend, even though you live so damn far away. You accomplished the impossible, and I hope that this will remind the both of us not to let our friendship slip away simply because we can't find time in our busy schedules to converse._

_All the characters belong to that one guy who owns them and is making money from their pain._

**Preface**

I don't really know what to say-I take that back. I know what to say. I just don't know when or how to say it. How am I supposed to put into words what is flying so fast in my brain that I can hardly channel it through my usual medium?

I'm standing in front of a giant cliff, the ledge of adulthood and I feel like I'm being pushed closer and closer to the ledge. But it's not just other people pushing me, I've been running towards it for my entire teen existence and now I've built up too much momentum to stop myself. To take a moment and bask in the glow of being spoiled and taken care of.

It's dark over that cliff, and I've faced unknowns like this before-but I always knew I would land just as alive on the other side. That there was a bottom I just couldn't see but now I know it's not a sure thing. I could keep falling and falling until I finally disappear into the darkness, or land wrong and break every bone in my body. Being crushed by adulthood is not an uncommon occurrence and I've seen it several times before.

"Frankie, you're so smart. You'll figure it out." People are overestimating here. Bobby's said it, my mother and father have said it. My grandmother has said it. They have so much faith in me it psychically hurts-the thought of letting them down.

Where do they draw this conclusion from, that I'm just as smart as my brothers? I must have missed the experiment. I never was good at Chemistry.

I'm supposed to be the one on top, the one who has it together. Instead, I can actually feel the seams of my body fall apart and rip under the stress! It's weak, I know, but real enough.

I'm two books into a book trilogy and I find I'm relating so much to the main character I can't control what the effect it's having on my emotions. She's in the life or death situation I feel I'm running parallel to. Metaphorically of course-I'm not dying.

How many other teenagers feel this way? That they're not pretty enough or smart enough to come out on top of life? I'm determined not to let it beat me, but that doesn't guarantee success either. Being dealt a rough hand isn't easy. Never in my life have I actually had to try at something. It's always come natural, I'm always dealt a manageable hand. I assume I won't fail to reach my father's expectations because I haven't in the past. But this logic is incredibly flawed. I assume I'm never going to have a husband or children and move on because it's easier not to think of it. If I don't deal with it then the problem isn't there, right?

"I have to know the ending to that damn book," I said. They didn't understand what I meant. It's like I can't get my point across, like I'm speaking French and they won't get Google Translator out to try and understand. "I have to know the ending!" I have to know everything will be ok. Because if everything is ok with the female lead, a character I feel I am so much alike, then everything will be ok with me.

Again, my logic is flawed, because I am not a beautiful literary heroine.. Because my life is not a book that will end wrapped in a pretty orange cover. Because I have to handle it myself. Because, even as I type this-knowing my logic is mutilated beyond repair-it's still the way I think. Because everything has to be alright. Because I have to land correctly. Because I have to survive. Because I have to defeat this Game of Life.

Because I haven't been dealt the favorable cards this time.

Because I'm a survivor, and I need to start acting like one.

**Chapter One**

I've always been told being a Winchester wasn't supposed to be easy but, without learning the hard way, how was I ever supposed to truly learn that lesson? To take my father seriously instead of rolling my eyes?

My father is hard not to take seriously, in all honesty, but I somehow long outgrew that handicap. Listening to my father would have you believing in ghosts and demons. Just like Dad manipulated my brothers into thinking.

"Dad," I say, trying not to sound too pissed off that he was interrupting my texting spree. "There is no such thing as fate or curses. You have bad luck because you bring it upon yourself." My mouth forms the familiar words and, this time, I don't even look up to see how they effect him, "Especially when you go looking for it."

I twitch as sensitive ears pick up the familiar intake of angered breath through his scarred nostrils. My mother says he was handsome once. "Disrespect me again, Frankie, and I'll have you running laps. You hear me, girl?"

"Loud and clear." I'm finally done with my text. Pushing send should have been easy.

But the phone isn't there anymore when my thumb goes to mash down the worn surface. "Hey!"

"You'll get this back when I don't feel the urge to slap you."

I sigh, propping my boot-clad feet onto the dash of his truck with the most teenage angst I can manage planted firmly on my face. "Then I won't ever get it back."

The truck pulls into the parking lot of a dingy hotel, just another piece of low class filth in a long string of them, right next to the glossy black of an Impala. The sight of it meant I was almost home.

Weekends with dad came few and far between, but they were still too many for my tastes. But seeing an Impala usually meant I was going home soon.

A hotel room door opened, out stepping my oldest brother in all his hung over glory. He'd had the weekend to himself in a town with way too many bars and easy women. It didn't surprise me to smell air freshener as soon as my head passed the threshold of salt. "What's with the Spring Lilac, Dean? Cooking lots of fish again?"

"Shut up, Frankie."

Forcing myself not to roll my eyes, trying hard not to be repetitive, I plop down on the unruffled bed. "Sure thing, Bro."

Dean threw a cheap plastic take out spoon at me, his close cropped sandy hair catching beams of sunlight on the top, warming the tops of his ears as he watched me catch it easily, swiping it out of the air as quickly as it had appeared. "That's not very nice, Dude."

"Who says I have to be nice to a smart mouth little girl?"

"Familiar obligation?"

"No chance."

"Then," I pause. It's not like him to be this irritable. "It's a good thing I'm only your half sister. Other wise it would be a shame to your character, Sir."

"Enough of that," Dead sticks out his tongue but his eyes remain serious. "Family is family. Half or not, Kid."

I can feel the sudden prickling of liquid before rapid blinking attempts a cover up. "Thanks," I say. And I mean it.

**Awesome. Hope you all enjoyed my first story back up! It's been a pleasure writing it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Frankly**

**Chapter 2 **

_Bonjour! Hope you enjoy this late installment of Frankly. No where do I mention my owning of Supernatural, and I don't know where anyone would get that idea. Not that you all would think that. You're smarties. _

* * *

Staring at the drive way like a dumb ass, I'm sure, doesn't look too sophisticated for me.

My mother's house is sitting in it's usual spot, as expected. It seems just as average as it did when Dean picked me up on Friday, so my refusal to actually open the door of the Impala puzzles everyone. Including myself.

Backpack strap in hand, I squint my eyes to look once more at my sun coated oldest brother. Not sure why, but I feel like something is about to change. Not with Dean, necessarily, but change somehow. It's similar to the feeling I got before Sam went out on his own for college. Like the comfortality of the present was soon coming to a close.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach was similar to hearing the announcement of an upcoming closing time just as you walk into the doors of a mall.

Nothing felt as awkward as meeting Dean's skeptical gaze, the type you get when you do something totally off the rocker. So I subconsciously lift my eye brows and blow out a long breath as I turn, gripping the door handle and push until it opens, climbing out of the low car. "See ya, Kid," Dean's voice floats to my ears before the door is fully closed.

A passive wave as I stare at my house is, truthfully, more than rude. But he still waits until I unlock the front door and walk in before he pulls off, protective as ever.

Mom peeks her head out of the kitchen when I shut the door, smile meeting grimace, her hands drying on a dish towel. "Hey, Chick."

"Aye." It's not much of a response, but it's what she's used to getting at this point.

My mom is an attractive enough blonde just approaching thirty six. Her hair wasn't always done, but her nails were always cut short and clean. She wasn't a particularly vain woman, but she was naturally pretty. With an air of simplicity and calm-ness surrounding her as she went about even the most complicated tasks. Her intellect was ultimately what fate used to bring on her downfall.

At twenty one, my mother was an intern in a Coroner's office, top of her class, and friendly to boot. Everything was going smoothly for her.

Until a "detective" rolled into town on a strange case. I don't think I need to spell out what happened next, because you should get the point. Bow-chicka-wow-wow and all that.

Either way I phrase it, the end result was messy. John Winchester isn't really a detective and you're royally screwed, Mom. Surprise: it's a girl!

'_She kept an optimistic attitude through it all, though,' _I think, taking the stairs two at a time.

At the top of the stairs, there are three bedrooms between a shared bathroom. The smaller of the three is, of course, mine.

While my mother's room is all books and sleek, adult style, mine is messy and dull. Clothes, both clean and dirty, cover every surface in the room, be it the tan carpet or the lime green furniture I've had since childhood. Even the antique vanity is smothered in debris. Nothing is safe from the madness of disarray. My eyes are still on the mess that my Mom will be sure to kick my ass for when she finds it, when my mind is suddenly seeing something else. A memory connected to the woman whose money bought the furniture in my war-zone of a bedroom.

_"Mommy?" A little girl asks from the door way of the kitchen her mother currently occupied. "Is Grandma sick?" The woman doesn't move from her place at the stove. Her arms go around in a robot motion, her eyes far off. _

_"I don't know, Baby."_

I shake my head. Thinking about that now wasn't going to help me, anyways. It never would. Sighing, my bag is thrown into an unknown corner of the room to be found at a later date.

That itching feeling is on the corner of my brain again. What's changed?

I go on through the next week with that feeling still there, and it occupies me so that I don't even notice when my father and brother's weekly calls are absent until two weeks later when no one is there to pick me up.

My mother is confused, too. Usually she would get a midnight call at some point to warn her of a change. It wasn't like _both _of them to forget me.

Mother and I share a look as she listens to the phone at her ear before gently placing it back on the wall mount. "I don't know where they are, Baby. Maybe they're just running late."

What's your definition of "late"? Thirty minutes or two weeks?

A month passes by without word of any kind.

A month until I see even a dream of one of my brother's, and it's the one I never expected.

"_Sam?" I call out from my place on the bed. I'm in my room, but the walls and colors are horribly dream-like, and my second elder brother is curled up on my carpet, screaming in agony. "Sam!"_

_He doesn't answer me. He looks like he isn't even aware I'm here. Doesn't he know he's in my room? It's then that I see his eyes are rolled back into his head, and the rooms starts to move around me as I focus in on him. _

Sam's screams get louder and louder until I finally sit up in bed, back in reality and out of breath. I have something lodged in my throat, like a warm liquid is pouring down it. Like someone made me top off a vile drink in my sleep.

I look around, though, and the room is clear. I'm awake. Sam isn't screaming on the floor, the Boogie Man isn't hiding in the corner. Nothing is wrong.

But no sleep finds me again that night.

At four in the morning I get up, pulling my dull brown hair into a pony tail and lace up my running shoes. It's going to be a long day.

My iPod is plugged in as I write a note for my mother in the kitchen. There's a key wedged in between two cracked bricks, but I don't want her to worry. I'm so focused on making my letters legible that don't hear my name being called over the angsty teenage music.

It's when a hand lands on my shoulder that I jump out of my skin.

"Dean?"

Blink.

That's all it takes and he's gone. No one is in the kitchen and I'm thoroughly freaked-the-fuck-out. '_Seeing things isn't normal, Frankie. Shake it off.'_

So freaked out am I that I start my run without finishing my note to Mom.

'_**Nothing**__ is normal anymore.' _The thought is circling some lobes or something, because I can't shake it from my mind. Just like I can't shake the image of Dean's scared face. It couldn't have been real, but never in my life have I seen his face like that. _'His face isn't even supposed to make that expression,' _it's impossible. I push myself to run harder.

The street lights are still on. It's dark out. It's also four-thirty in the morning. '_Maybe that's why I'm seeing things. Sleep deprivation.' _

* * *

**De rien, readers! **

Also, special thanks to my three reviewers (SuzSinger, cliftney, and Lucifersdaughter).

**SuzSinger:** I love you, too. Glad you relate.

**cliftney:** They will keep coming. You keep reviewing, okay?

**Lucifersdaughter**: Know more, you shall. Hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Frankly**

_Aloha, readers. I hope you enjoy today's installment of Frankly. Just, be warned, I did write this at three in the morning. It might be...error filled. And make no sense. EITHER WAY: I still don't own Supernatural, sillies. _

_**ENJOY!**_

* * *

_"What glitters," the whispered song rang out, breathless the second it leaves the pink lips that formed it. _

_The sentence, the owner of the lips can tell, will come out only in fragments. "Is not always," the lips quiver with each step that bounces its features. _

_Light refracts off wet cobblestone pavers that make a road and buildings hang ominously over alley ways. "Gold." It's not even a whisper, the mouth forms the word without making a sound. _

The sound of skirts rustling wakes me up from my after school nap and my head lifts off the pillow in an instant. I'm breathless from the get-go and purely exhausted. The dreams keep coming: sometimes different, sometimes not. There is nothing more frustrating than not knowing what's happening to your own mind.

I'm going crazy. Being a Winchester might finally be catching up to me.

Getting up and leaving the unhappy thoughts behind, I slipped my house shoes on and open my bedroom door in favor of the bathroom. A shower sounds just about right after another long day at school. It's finally Friday, and even though the weekends as of late have been pure hell, I'm looking forward to it. So, I look into the mirror with a small smile.

In the shower I try to scrub away the worry that has settled on my skin like another layer, so close. _'The dreams must be a manifestation of worry for my brothers,' _I think. At this point, the many numbers have been changed or cancelled. My worry has become an ever present reel playing in the back of my head. Always there and never ending.

Well, I already said that, I suppose, but the point has been made, at least. I know they're alive, but I can't tell where they were, and their new phone numbers wouldn't magically come to me. No matter how hard I wished for it.

I've wished for a lot of things in the time they've been gone. Brought on by missing the little things. Like the sunlight in Dean's hair, or how he always bugged me to shave the hair on his neck with his electric razor. Or my dad lecturing me about texting. That used to annoy me so.

I wonder if I'll ever get those little moments back.

"**Sam!" **I hear Dean's loud voice filtered through the bathroom door. I shake my head, causing shampoo to burn my eyes. The burn doesn't distract the sadness I feel. I'm going crazy. Why won't my brain stop this? It's hard enough worrying about them without having auditory hallucinations.

I rinse my hair and my eyes before stepping out onto the fuzzy rug, a towel already wrapped around my torso. I have my hairbrush halfway through a tangled mass of wet hair when I hear it again. This time, the water is off and I hear it more clearly. "Sam, hurry up! I know it's hard to walk up the stairs in your heels, Princess, but get a move on. Frankie's waiting."

I stare at my frozen, terror filled face in the mirror. Terror because, if it isn't real this time, I might explode into a million pieces. They had to be there, they had to.

I've waited so long for this moment, so why I remain frozen is a mystery to myself and my reflection. All I see, all I think for a moment of time is concentrated on taking in the sight of my reflection, as if I could ask it if what I heard was real. And, if it wasn't, why it would play such a cruel trick on me? Like it was responsible.

The hairbrush is dropped into the sink's shallow basin and I'm out the door in a matter of seconds, searching. _'Dean? Sam?'_

And there, standing on the carpet in my bedroom doorway is my sandy headed brother, in all of his stocky glory. The sun filtered through his hair just like I remembered. "Hey, Frank."

I close my eyes for just a moment, taking a breath and swallowing down the lump that has formed in my throat before I realize how much time I'm wasting.

I'm in my brothers arms in a matter of seconds, hugging him as tightly as I possibly can, my face pressed to his chest. His heart beat is slow and steady beneath his skin and clothes and it's just what I'd hoped it would be.

Sam is standing behind him, next to my bed. He's even taller than I remember. "Thank God," I whisper into Dean's cloth covered chest before I pull away from the embrace. "Where," now I'm angry. They're alive. And I see a phone shaped object in both of their pockets. Five weeks they could have called. Five. "In the hell...have you two idiots been?"

I can feel my hair drying into a mass of dark brown frizz as their faces contort into that of awkwardness. They're framing their response so as not to fully piss me off, which is just proving to pissing me off. "You two make me sick," I say, gripping my towel tighter to my body. "Make up your excuse in the hall so I can get dressed."

The door is slammed in their faces as soon as it can be, which leaves them confused, I can tell. I missed them so, but this is only going to be unnecessarily awkward if I remain in nothing but a towel.

They are, after all, fully grown men.

Clothing is hastily pulled up and over my body as quickly as it can so that the time spent away from my two dearest brothers is as short as it could possibly be. Also, I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't a dream or hallucination.

The door is open in no time at all, everyone filed into the room, and I await the excuse of a life time. _'It better be good.'_

"Dad disappeared. I was so busy looking for him that, by the time I recruited Sam to help look, calling you had slipped my mind. We've...run into a little trouble, you could say."

"So," I drawl out. "What you're saying is...You were too worried to even send a text?"

Dean's hand runs through his short hair. I notice the hair on his neck is completely untrimmed. "Got new phones," insert a coy, guilty smile here. "The other ones had to be trashed. We headed for you as soon as we could."

"Where were you that it took five weeks to get to me?"

Eyes are rolled. Sam is still silent. "We just left out yesterday morning. Drove all through the night and over the speed limit to get here."

"That's no excuse," I whisper. "I was worried sick."

"Sorry, Frank." Dean looks guilty as he pulls me into another hug. I missed the way he smelled. Like cheap hotels and the polishing agent he used on the seats of the Impala. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

Sam, by now, is sheepishly scratching the back of his head. He knows how upset I was when he left. I think he senses that his actions have permanently damaged our once well structured bond.

Either way, I still give him the tightest hug I can manage. "I'm so glad you're okay," I whisper. I don't even really come up to his chest now, with his height, but I think he heard. Because he suddenly hugs me back.

* * *

_The special thank you to my reviewers will commence...now._

_**Eva Sirico: **__I'm glad you love it already. I know I do. Thank you for the review!_

_**SuzSinger: **__Thanks, Lovey! Appreciate 'ya. _

_**Impalagirl67: **__If you're hooked, then my fishing trip has gone well, wouldn't you say? Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy._

_**LauRa-ReaDinG-XoX: **__Thank you for both of your reviews! DING, DING, DING! You win the special prize! (Not really, I'm broke. But, if I could, I'd send you a __golden cookie.)_

_**Lucifersdaughter: **__Thank you, you're great. I hope this satisfies your need to know more. _

_**Until next time, Lovey's. I'm outie. **_


	4. Chapter 4

**Frankly**

_Sorry for the long wait. College and falling in love have kicked my ass, truly. Never start college in the summer. It's hard. Just don't do it. _

_I don't own Supernatural._

* * *

"As sure as God made black and white," Frankie sang, watching her face disappear behind the bubbles that she spread over the glossy paint on her brother's car. It never ceased to amaze her how she could scrub the layers of dirt and dust off. Make for a clean start.

She dunks her sponge into the soapy bucket of water sitting next to a water hose. "What's done in the dark will be brought to the light." Frankie closed her eyes, humming the chorus and ignoring everything but the peace that came with the Impala's fresh start.

Dean was back in town, and his sister jumped on the chance to revel in the tranquility once more. It has been a year since her dad disappeared, since Dean and Sam suddenly appeared at the top of her stairs.

They went about their business, ridding the world of evil she once refused to believe in. Of course they didn't take her with them, that'd be ridiculous. It wasn't safe. Or, at least, that's what they said.

Her immediate response was to be wary of their adventures. Lock her doors and buy salt in bulk. But time, it seems, was curiosity's aide.

It was a matter of months before Frankie's eyes lit up with excitement at the stories. Bathed in the excitement of adrenaline, and she wasn't even there. Her day dreams were filled with the gory details of beheading vampires and sending demons back to the pits of hell.

She knew, however, that her brothers and her mother wouldn't have it. In fact, she even admitted to herself that it was a stupid, foolish idea. It wasn't like her to fixate on silly notions.

Maybe she was obsessing. Or addicted to an adrenaline rush. One of the two options. Maybe both? She didn't know.

"Frank!"

She whips her eyes open and her head around to look at the now open screen door. "You're gonna scrub the paint off my baby! Give it a rest!"

A sigh was his only answer as Frankie began rinsing the final layer of soap off the hood. It was time to pack up, and she couldn't put her finger on exactly how long she'd been out there.

* * *

_I know this is short, but I'm in between 16 hour shifts. Something is better than nothing, right? Just a taste. More to follow, I promise._

_NOW, for my reviewers!_

_SuzSinger: That's not very nice. If I knew what I was doing, plot wise, I'd fill you in. Promise. Hope you enjoyed? Text me and I'll tell you anything you need to know. _

_Lucifersdaughter: So glad you enjoy it. Sorry for taking so long. _

_casisabamf: Interesting name, and thanks for the review. Hope you enjoyed it. _

_LauRa-ReaDinG-XoX: not long like you suggested, but I hope you still enjoyed it. Sorry. Thank you for your reviews! _

_Impalagirl67: Still hooked? I hope so! Thanks for the review, Deary._

_Penguinsnuggles: hope you still think it's done well, and thank you so much for that! Thanks for the review, the compliment, and the smile. Not much happened in this chapter, but it was a little moment I felt needed sharing. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Frankly**

_The Winchester Gene, pt 1_

_I don't own Supernatural. I do own Frankie, though. *The chapter, as you can probably guess, is cut half. I finally have a plan for this story and it starts to be executed just about...now._

_{Note the time change. A few years have passed, so much so that Dean and Sam have recently met the Trickster.}_

There was an odd taste in Frankie's mouth. She couldn't get it out. It was similar to the anxiety she felt years ago when her brothers had disappeared.

Nothing was right with her, it seemed. She'd never really been very popular, but today took the cake.

Today was the day she accepted something she had been fighting most of her life. Something she didn't tell anyone. No one in her family or the few friends she actually had. Something that she herself took years to accept. It wasn't an easy thing to admit, she knew. Frankie just felt she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

Apparently, it was in the Winchester gene attract women and monsters.

* * *

"Frank!" A voice called through the crowded hallway. People stared. No one knew that she was even there until that moment. "Wait up!"

Uncomfortable with the sudden acknowledgement of her presence, Frankie kept moving through the hallway, head down. Her friend be damned. "Frankie! Don't chu run away from me!"

Her friend's voice was getting more and more shrill. It wasn't pleasant. The stares continue. My feet move faster until I finally duck into the ladies restroom by my locker.

Frankie stares down at her Gypsy skirt, fascinated as she waits for her friend. Her love of everything girly made her think back to the traumatizing days full of boyish activities. Running drills and learning how to shoot guns. Crying until her Dad would just let her go sit on the side lines.

"Frank!" The door opens, her blonde friend walking in. Her face is flushed and her hair is slightly disheveled from the crowd. "You avoiding me, Chick?"

"You could tell?"

"Har, har." The blonde rolls her eyes. "What can you tell me about Motichelli's class?"

This happened every Friday. Kira would track her down and ask about the "pop quiz" that was in store for her after lunch. The teacher was so old and senile he didn't realize that giving a test every Friday was not a "surprise".

"Chapter seven. Like you studied all week." Frankie manages to say, adjusting her hair in the mirror. "Make sure to look over the culture notes. He questions that pretty heavily."

A sigh escaped her lips. "Man, I didn't study that at all." She steps up to the brightly lit mirror, adjusting her intricately braided halo-hair and reapplying the bright red lip stick she always wore.

Once she was satisfied with her improvements, she slapped the back of Frankie's arm and winked. "Thanks, champ."

Frankie sighed, happy to finally be on lunch break. She wouldn't eat, of course, her teenage body was accustomed to slight starvation after the magazine subscriptions came in the mail each month, but she would sit quietly. Alone and just fine.

Whilst she didn't spend her time speaking to a great deal of her classmates, she was surrounded by their noise all day. Frankie doesn't like noise. She found it made it hard to think clearly.

She waited for the sounds in the hall to virtually cease before making her escape.

Not many people were in the hall anymore. It was just Frankie and a beautifully dark skinned girl, Kadedra, whom always joked about the differences in skin colors left. Frankie didn't like the girl, even if she found her flawless skin amazing and jealousy-inducing. She found her off putting, to be honest.

So it was only the profoundly odd occurrence that is about to occur that will cause the meeting of wide eyes, sharing a connection of disbelief and fear. The "fuck is this?" look was their only bonding moment in the eleven and a half years they will have known each other.

They were walking in the same direction down the hallway, several feet apart and an awkward silence between them, when they saw it.

One second, an empty hall way littered with carelessly dropped papers is stretched empty before them.

The next? A man flashes into existence before their very eyes.

Everyone freezes, including the man.

The hallway is motionless for a matter of seconds that seem to stretch the timeline far greater than Frankie's mind would've wanted it to, before the mild chaos erupts.

A look is shared. Kadedra drops the binders that were previously in her possession. Papers fly.

Kadedra starts to turn. Her brain moves so fast that Frankie sees this all in slow motion. A deep feeling of emptiness spreads through her stomach as a deep rooted fear spreads in that of Kadedra's.

It takes all but a matter of seconds before Kadedra is running full-out in the direction they had been coming from. Frankie's first reaction is to step towards the man. Walk quickly to him, as a matter of fact.

Something in her brain screamed to follow him, almost as if he were calling to her, even without words. "_Come to me," _her brain whispers.

The man turns, too, looking back at her for but a moment before continuing down his path, further down the hallway. His blonde hair blows in an invisible wind, a light glowing around his head.

He looked almost angelic if it weren't for Frankie's notice of the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Frankie was so transfixed with her assessment of the creature before her that she barely registers Kadedra's racist comments yelling down the hall. "White bitch, run _away_! Haven't you ever seen a horror movie?"

It's the obscenities that finally causes Frankie to shake herself out of the trance, but not before she notices the frown that suddenly forms on the man's face. He must've realized the trance was broken, too, because he promptly disappears. As seemingly effortless as he appeared.

"Whoa," Frankie breaths out, the hall suddenly so cold she could see her breath.

* * *

_MY REVIEWERS, my lovelies! _

_OffMyTea: Thanks for asking. You prompted my lazy but to actually think about the plot. Thanks for the review! :)_

_Lucifersdaughter: This soon enough for 'ya? Hope so! Sorry for the wait, honestly. Thanks for the review._

_Blink-182-98: Thanks! And I love you! Appreciated your review._

_Laura-reading-xoxo: (don't have the energy to properly do your name, hope you don't mind). Thanks for the well wishes! Honestly appreciated. I look forward to another review from you. Sometimes, and I'm guilty of this too, a reader forgets that the author has a life, has things going on and gets so invested in a story and all they care about is an update. I've been there. But it's nice to see when someone remembers you're there, behind the computer screen. Thank you and have a wonderful day, Dear. _

**UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Frankly **

**Chapter Six**

_Don't be too mad about the wait. And I was looking today at the updates that all of the other writer's have been making, thinking "why won't this one specific story update? -throws stuff around-" when I realized maybe that's the reaction I'm provoking in some of you and I'm so sorry. _

_So...there she blows!_

_(I do not own Supernatural or...blah, blah, blah. You get the point.)_

**"Francesca! Where are y-" Dean **doesn't get the chance to finish his panicked sentence, which is carried over miles and miles, probably bouncing off some satellites while it's at it, and continues to travel in one of Frankie's ears and out the other. It's utterly magic, but Frankie doesn't care.

She's clutching a pay phone with one hand and a smashed cell in the other, glancing nervously around as she tries to figure out just where she is. "Help! Dean, you've got to come get me."

"Where are you?" His breathing is erratic and she hears it, even through bad reception and panic. "Francesca, I'm serious. Where. Are. You?" He has his control freak tone of voice set firmly in place and she would've been scared of it had it been almost any other situation.

"I don't know. I don't know!" Frankie sees a shadow at the opening of the street before the machine starts to tell her to put in more quarters. "Damnit, Dean! Help. I see a bunch of old houses, like the ones...I'm on Second Street-"

The call drops.

Frankie throws the phone back at the bulky machine, glancing over her shoulder and trying to gage the shadow's distance before she starts a full out run...

She can't think, her mind too fogged. Her survival instincts are what's taken over now, and nothing but luck and adrenaline can help her now.

Her thoughts are so fogged that she doesn't think to stay on Second Street, the place where her brothers would be coming to look for her. Maybe she could make it home. It was only a short run to-everything changes, blurs, moves, shifts. She's not in Kansas anymore.

No, she's in a place where reality isn't real. It only looks real and if you get used to it, it'll chance and nothing will seem familiar again. Except some vague memory of a horror movie or two, Frankie has never laid eyes on some of the places she's been in the last few days.

Why couldn't she leave well enough alone? Or run, as Kadedra suggested? Or at least thought if a creature can suddenly appear and disappear in front of you that it can certainly tell when you're about to call your hunter brothers to snitch on it? No, no. She didn't think of that. Because that makes too much sense. _'I really need to start studying horror movies or something.'_

The new reality finally stops shifting, almost as if someone has finally chosen a channel on the Television.

'_A diner? Fuck it,'_ she thinks, finally at her wit's end. "Stop fucking with me! If you're going to end it, then end it you goddamned coward!" Screaming at the top of her lungs somehow helps.

The people in the diner don't so much as look up at her or pause in their actions. It's almost as if they didn't know she was there. She whips her head around, looking for anything out of place.

She can't find anything so she looks for the door. _'I have to get out!...Let me out.' _Her thoughts end pitifully. The door is so far away, it seems, and her legs seem to be Jell-o. She's so tired, and all she can think about is live or die. Which one shall it be?

**Dean didn't think he could** be any more worried. Now was not the time for anything to go wrong for him, or for anyone to get in his way. In the middle of a hunt, he gets a weird call from his baby sister which dead ended in that ominous something-bad-has-happened type way.

He tried very hard to stay calm, Frankie's calls drop all the time. But this time he got a bad feeling from it, and not just in the over protective, "I-need-to-chew-her-out" way, but in the "I'm-a-hunter-and-I-know-when-something's-supernaturally-wrong" way. He knew deep down in his bones that something was wrong, and it shook him to his core.

So much so that he dropped everything mid-hunt and rushed to her home in Montana only to find that no one had seen or heard from Frankie in the two days it took the Winchesters to get there, driving virtually non-stop, from their hunt in southern Louisiana.

Search parties where out everywhere, Dean and Sam with them, when he gets a call from a number he didn't recognize. "Hello?" It's clipped, it's controlled, it's worried.

He can hear only heavy breathing and a faint "help" as the caller collects themselves. "Francesca? Where are y-"

He's interrupted and Dean's so worried he doesn't even care, he just wants his little sister back, safe and sound. "Help! Dean, you've got to come get me." The words are scared, his sister is scared. "Where are you?" He takes a deep breath when he feels the panic in his throat, choking him. "Francesca, I'm serious. Where. Are. You?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" Pause. A static sound, one that has been there through the whole call, suddenly worsens. "Damnit, Dean! Help. I see a bunch of old houses, like the ones...I'm on Second..." The static is so bad that her last few words, whatever it is that she's saying. Second? Second what?

Dean looks frantically to Sam, his eyes gleaming in what little light the searcher's flash lights are giving off. "Second? What does "second" mean?"

"Second...Second street?" Sam takes a deep breath. He's not as shaken as his brother.

Dean snaps his fingers as he turns, heading towards the Impala quickly and only pauses when he realizes Sam's not immediately behind him, but looking towards the other members of the search party as they move through the dense Montana trees. "Sam?!" His voice leaves no room for argument and Sam rushes forward, seemingly snapped out of a daze.

**They reach Second Street in record **time. The glass box of a pay phone booth shines in the eerie darkness.

Dean grips his gun from where it is nested in the back of his jeans. He rushes forward into the night as he hears Sam quietly get out of the vehicle.

Noting the disconnected phone hanging limply in the straight-out-of-a-horror-film phone booth, he looks up and down the street, noting that the recent rain has splashed mud all over the streets.

With hope welling up in his chest, Dean starts to check the mud for prints and only finds one, a solitary half mark angled on the curve between the road and the side walk. An alley way is ominously looming in the foot print's direction.

Dean raises his gun as he steps into the belly of the beast, fully prepared to go further down the alley in the most badass way possible when he hears the squish of fluid being stepped on. A gooey fluid and he's the one stepping on it.

Knowing that looking down and screaming about his boots could get him killed, he only spares a fleeting glance at the substance.

Only it's not mud or water or throw up from some drunk.

It's an oddly dark color, glowing almost. "What the...?"

A sick feeling gnaws at him as he realizes what the substance is.

'_Fucking melted chocolate' _and glow in the dark candy wrappers. Thrown out when it's owner realized his favorite snack has melted in a pocket due to body heat. Body heat caused by chasing _his sister_?

Only one being could be responsible for this.

* * *

_Yay, for updates! A family member is in the hospital getting her surgery done and knocked-the-hell-out so I figured I'd write whilst I stay the night. Hospital couches are mighty...stiff. _

_ANYWHO...Reviewers :D_

_Guest: Aye! Thanks for the review, whoeveryouare. Thanks for the inspirational tidal waves, BTW! -bathes in the waves-_

_Laura: Thanks for your review! You caught my "three in the morning, oh my lord, why am I still up? MUST FINISH CHAPTER!" errors, and I appreciate it! I know that you're confused and, I don't mean to sound rude sopleasedon'ttakeitthatwayDarling, but it's kinda supposed to be like that. Where's the thrill or mystery if you know what's going on? Love you and your reviews, as always. _

_Guest (numero...two. I took French in high school, so shoot me.): YAY! Gabe. Love him and love you for your reviews. Looking forward to your next review, Darling ;)_

_SuzSinger: What you are referring to does not have an "e". The one with the "e" is a garden tool that I have no relation to. Thanks for beta reading me even though you were tired as all get out. :3  
_

_Offmytea: Oh, love your name. And I love your review! Thanks, Deary. Keep on keepin' on._

_Lucifer's Daughter: And I'm looking forward to your reaction! :D Yay, for reactions and reviews. And yes, they have defiantly met. _

_Casisabamf: and I can't wait for your review! Thanks and stay fresh, Dawg. _

_Think that covers everyone. I hope it does, anyways. I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL. -goes to sleep-_


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